Confirmations
by quantumsilver
Summary: Tuvok's scan confirmed the doctor's suspicions.


**Notes**: For the VAMB Secret Exchange, word limit 1300 words. First line by Asyndi: Tuvok's scans confirmed the doctor's suspicions.

Thanks to Cheshire, Froot, Kate04, Koneia, Malezita, and anyone else who read, cheered, or listened to me whine. Sweethearts, all. :)

_Confirmations_

* * *

Tuvok's scan confirmed the doctor's suspicions. Neck-deep in coolant exhaust, the Vulcan leaned back for a breath of uncondensed air. "Doctor," he called hoarsely to the flight deck, "your suspicions were-"

The alien shuttle rocked for the third time in as many tens of seconds, nearly pitching him to the singed deck.

"I could use you at Tactical, Commander, but someone _must_ apply pressure to the wound! Try to keep her-"

At the whining lurch of failing inertial dampeners, Tuvok's Vulcan equilibrium failed him. He hit the side console opposite, rolling back to the dying human as quickly as a snapped collar bone would permit as Seven of Nine stirred from her convalescence, jarred to coherence.

"I'm losing interface!" the EMH called.

"I believe I can assist," Seven claimed, reaching a shaking hand to the bleeding woman beside her.

"Seven," Tuvok cautioned, as her fingers, too, grew slick with red. "You are very weak. You must-"

"Incoming!"

This time, Tuvok managed to brace himself and the captain: Seven was steadied by virtue of being sandwiched between them as the ship lurched again.

"Go," Seven urged, hooking one arm behind a fixed outcropping of bulkhead, the other applying pressure to a wound she had no intention of allowing to run its course. "Or we will not make it to Voyager for treatment in any case."

Her resolve was a thing of abstract beauty. Even Tuvok acknowledged this as he dashed for the smoking flight deck without further discourse. "Are you still interfacing with the piloting controls?"

"Yes, but it's getting progressively more difficult," the EMH snapped, stress evident on his human-mimicking features. "I'm unlocking Tactical. Try to hit the ship on the left: it's doing the most damage." A ship zig-zagged in front of them on screen. A second later, the small shuttle dipped an awkward evasion. He dared a terse, "The captain?"

"Alive. For the moment. Seven is tending to her."

"How is _she_?"

"She needs her alcove, as you stated."

"Let's hope we can get her to it."

Tuvok grunted agreement. Trial and error was no way to wage effective resistance. Whether or not they would make it to the nearby Voyager remained to be seen. With the amount of systems' damage, Tuvok did not appreciate their odds. At least the engines weren't failing. Yet. He summoned his considerable experience, guessing which sequence of levers would effect his intended result. His fingers stuck at the console's buttons. He had a nanosecond to realize that the captain's blood left congealing residues on his fingers and, now, the controls. Too much of it. If the doctor's programming wasn't needed to interface directly with the foreign computer systems… "Voyager?"

"Hasn't responded to our hails."

"Doctor. What is that?" Tuvok pointed to the screen, where a large black shape was shimmering into existence directly in their path.

"It looks like a…"

Tuvok's normally-steady stomach lurched as a giant warship appeared, decloaking directly in their path.

Both inferred the strategic intent. Such a large vessel would undoubtedly sustain damage from collision, but nowhere near the destruction dealt to their smaller vessel.

"Can you compensate?" Tuvok took aim, knowing as he unleashed an almost-targeted volley of explosives at the huge ship how inept that volley would be.

"I'm try-"

The first blast took out the remainder of their shields, allowing the second shot to hit them dead-on. Artificial gravity failed. As his head smashed into the ceiling above him, Tuvok went most unwillingly into the white light.

He never felt himself dropping back to the floor.

(^)(^)(^)

The scent of safety nestled him, yet broken words raked him from darkness. Where was the white light?

"…still regenerating. What happened down there? I've never seen her so shaken."

"They were intent on proving a particular point." Rusty syllables confirmed a question his subconscious posed. "It doesn't really matter now. They failed."

"If we hadn't come when we did, the doctor wouldn't have been able to revive you."

The male voice reinforced the sense of distance from combat; it wouldn't be present if active danger remained.

Seven. Janeway. The doctor. Their unfortunate quatrain, recovered.

"Can we discuss it later?"

"Yes – thanks entirely to Tuvok. And the doctor."

"So the doctor has informed me. He really piloted the shuttle?"

"Admirably, according to Seven."

"I'll look forward to the slideshow."

A heavy silence ensued, during which the pain cloyed, implying his exhaustion was not mental but physical.

"Kathryn…"

Whatever the very human exchange on the end of that rough plea, it went un-eavesdropped as Tuvok's weary body ceded to slumber.

(^)(^)(^)

He next awoke fully. Again, he was not alone. This time, a pleased hologram and a subdued Janeway stood over him – indicative of how badly he had been injured.

The doctor's wand whirred and whirred over him, reminiscent of the benediction the hologram enjoyed mimicking at his Fair Haven sermons. The wand stopped, and the acerbic deflection of concern began. "Well. It seems you're back among the waking. How do you feel, Commander?"

There was no benefit to pointing out that he did not feel; this he had painstakingly learned.

"I am…rested."

"I should hope so!"

"You've been out for ten days," Janeway explained gently.

This was far longer than he'd expected. However, seeing the captain standing in uniform should have hinted at the duration.

"Doctor, would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Certainly. I've only successfully reconstructed both of you in the past two weeks. What could you have to say that _I'd_ want to hear?"

Tuvok found Janeway's undisguised irritation a source of private comfort. There were moments when she shared his preference for succinctness. If only there were some way to temper the impending display of emotion he knew to be inevitable as the doctor retreated under her gaze.

"How are you, really?" she asked, resting her cold hand beside him.

"I am not experiencing appreciable pain."

"Seven says you saved both our lives."

"I regret that I could not come sooner. My condition?" On this matter, the details were unsatisfactorily hazy.

"Now? Fine. Before? Severe brain damage. Seems your head's not quite as hard as I thought it must be when I heard you'd come after me."

"It would have been illogical to leave the ship without its captain."

"It was illogical to risk the tactical officer and ship's only doctor getting her back."

"The doctor assisted me."

"I've already dealt with him." She shook her head, a snap of both appreciation and reprove. "You infiltrated an alien stronghold, singlehandedly held off an entire armed guard, commandeered an enemy shuttle, blew your way through their launcher bay doors – here I thought it was _me_ who was supposed to be reckless."

"Extending the classification to me does not supersede your own inclusion."

"I guess it doesn't." Her smile was as unilateral as some of her decisions. Shortly, it dimmed. "I'm sorry you were hurt."

"Remorse is unwarranted. I survived. And, I had the odds-defying factor to do so in my favor."

The knit of her brows was disturbingly comforting. "What factor?"

"Your presence. You have survived death more times than simple odds would permit."

Her expression would once have been inscrutable to him. Now, much less so as she clipped, "Utterly illogical."

"Indeed. Yet it is statistically-" the unprecedented horror of her lips brushing his close-cropped hair above his ear stymied him.

"Thank you, old friend," she whispered.

By the time he found speech, the slick doors to Sickbay were repressurizing behind her.

His skin felt oddly warm: a rarity in human temperatures. But for the indignity involved in recounting what had just occurred, he would have asked the doctor to scan him. Tuvok raised his hand, studying his dark flesh.

He decided there was insufficient evidence to conclude that he was, in fact, blushing.


End file.
